“I do not.”
A slow nod. “Know this, Clara Bronwen.” His lip twitched. “ClaraBromley. You are bloody magnificent. From the first moment I met you, my soul praised your beauty. And now, touching you, even knowing I cannot have you, I have never been more aroused. All you have to do is exist, and I am hard, aching, needyfor you.” He closed his eyes with a shudder, as if wracked by the very need he spoke of, then released her and stepped back, opening his eyes once more.
Needy, aching arousal. Not just him lost to it. His words—only his words—had swept a living tingle up her spine, sent a bolt of heat straight between her legs.
She hung her head and mumbled, “I am such a fool.”
His foot stepped into view, and his hand cupped her chin once more, and then, again, she looked into his eyes. Less angry this time. Yet more dangerous. “You are no?—”
“I am because despite my better judgment, I want… I want…”
“Say it.”
“I thought I did not want you to touch me, but…” She cut her eyes to side, intent on escape.
His hold on her chin tightened. He would not let her leave. “Say it, Clara.”
“I thought I did not want you to touch me, but I do.”
“All of it. Say all of it.”
“I want you to touch me.”
Between one second and the next, he pushed her against the nearest wall, slicing one leg between hers and lifting until the ground fell away and she clung to his neck to keep from toppling through the air. She held tight to him to keep from falling. She held him tight because she wanted to. And he lifted until her legs bunched around his hips, wrapping round. He pinned her against the wall, the muscle of his thigh hard against the part of her that ached for him the most. No man had ever tossed her up a wall before.
And the only thing that felt better was when his lips met hers, and he parted her mouth with a kiss. Their third kiss. Another to add to the one when he’d agreed to pretend to love her and the one when he’d proposed marriage to her. The first soft, the second with a hint of heat. This third would destroy her. All three glimpses of a man seemingly at odds with the usual Atlas, the quiet giant who helped others.
Somewhere within, he possessed a rogue. Who kissed, who demanded, who threatened to fuck her. And every time that rogue appeared, she wanted to let him. Every time the rogue peeked out from the hidden core of this gentle soul, all her fears burned away.
Entirely mad. As mad as his kisses, growing harder and hotter.
Because every woman knew rogues were not to be trusted. They inspired fear instead of banishing it. But she could never fear Atlas.Thatwhy this did not scare her,thatwhy she would forget her former follies—a marriage without intimacies—and let him ravish her.
She stroked her hands into his silky hair and pressed her breasts against his chest.
He groaned, his leg lifting higher as she rolled against it with a whimper.
She blamed the whimper for what happened next. He withdrew from the kiss, closed his eyes on heavy breaths, and lowered his leg, placing her on her feet.
“I mean it,” she said, refusing to remove her arms from around his neck. Her own speech halted heavy between them. “I want this. A lady can change her mind can she not?”
His eyes flew open. “She damn well can. I’ve only stopped… your clothes. And I’m not yet undressed. And”—he swallowed, his hand twitching at his thigh. His wound. Had he hurt it when he’d lifted her? “Now, Shall I undress you, or will you undress yourself?”
“I want your hands on me.” A rush of relief that he did not regret the kiss. A rush of greediness. As long as this man gave, she would take.
He spun her around, pulled her hard against his front. She gasped, she melted, and she let her head fall back into the hard shelter of his chest.
His arms wrapped round her, one hand finding her breast, caressing, squeezing until every thought in her head turned into firework—light and glory then ash. Gone.
Just like her gown, suddenly pooled around her feet, her stays falling with a thump to the floor, he reached for her shift, tugged, but she had urges, too. They must be met. She turned in his arms, made quick work of the buttons of his waistcoat, let itjoin her abandoned finery on the ground at their feet. His cravat gave way easily beneath a gentle tug, and once she’d unwrapped him, she kissed the strong column of his neck. That bobbing apple in his throat sat just at her eye height, and odd that made her feel small, when every other man of her existence made her feel a very Amazon. Small, yes, but not weak. The way he touched her, looked at her, gave her strength.
Then, with a growl, he lifted her, tossed her onto the bed, and froze. He stood a sky-reaching statue in the dark, his shoulders as broad as forever. She wanted to live on them, knew she’d feel safe there. From the distance separating them, his gaze met hers, slicing out of the darkness to catch her, hold her. Ha. As if she’d go anywhere.
In the distance between them, her need grew greater. Every minute he didn’t touch her screamed across her skin. Hemusttouch her. He must at least move, eventually. But when he finally did it was only to tilt his head to the side, his eyes hot coals.
“Let us play a game,” he said.
“Pardon?”
